Balance
by demoness-sweet
Summary: The Heads of Good and Evil try to set their representatives up...and they find out. Oh dear. Warning: this is a SLASH story. You know what I mean.


BALANCE   
by: demoness_sweet  
  
(A/N: Hey all! I read GO a couple of months ago and was STRUCK by the chemistry between our beloved angel and demon. So I dreamed and wrote. R and R is ALWAYS appreciated. Those who do get brownie points and a broccoli cookie ^_^)  
  
Warning: This story contains SLASH. That is: a male/male relationship. DO NOT read if you are uncomfortable with this. I know that you probably know what you're getting into, but I don't have time to babysit people who cannot read the warnings, and I DO NOT appreciate getting flamed by those who have issues with my stories because they chose to read them. Have an issue, didn't read the warning? Tough.   
  
By the way, this is written with religious flippancy in mind. I'm not religious, and I treat the Heaven/Hell, God/Lucifer thing VERY casually. If you are religious, and can't bear to see your religion maligned, I'm sorry. You're probably hear because you read Good Omens, and I personally don't think that I treated religion with more off-handedness than Neil Gaiman. So yeah.   
  
This work is based on GO, not mine...yeah. You know the drill, don't sue me cuz I'm not making money off of it. You'll get three nickels and a chapstick. And I'll throw rotten cabbages at you in the process.   
  
  
BALANCE  
***********************************  
  
"Ouch! Dear me,"   
  
A mournful angel gazed wistfully at the rather...large tome that had, with no regard for age, birth, or angelic title hit him on the head. He stared at the volume, hoping that he didn't have to will it up into its correct location. Yet again. The fourth day in a row.   
  
Smiling to himself, Aziraphale shook his head and murmured, "You could give Crowley a lesson in stubbornness." Conveniently forgetting that in many instances, he himself had been just as insistent, or even more so. Like that incident with the goat, the tongs and the chocolate syrup belonging to that poor farmer down in Eastery. And of course, it had been all Crowley's fault.   
  
Delicate wisps of ash blond hair flew in a frenzy as Aziraphale shook his head. He righted the rectangular spectacles on his nose and squared his shoulders as he prepared to, yet again, do battle with The Demonic Nun Bible of Obstinate Refusal to Stay in the Bookcase of Which It Was Designated Thusly By Higher Powers. Higher Powers, being of course, the humble owner of the humble bookshop, bookcase and not-so-holy book.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Crowley grinned as he entered the bookshop. Without knocking. For a very good and judicious reason, although no self-respecting demon of low and therefore respected repute would even think of applying those two adjectives in conjunction with their name without the perquisite 'not'. And The-Adversary-of-God-Forbid that Crowley do such a thing. He was evil, debonair, and in a very good mood. Which explained his whistling. (Generally whenever Crowley whistled, people went under their beds to await the next large explosion, loud screams, or frantic cursing that was bound to occur.)   
  
One hand went to smooth down the fabric of the sleek black trenchcoat that covered him. And not just in the conventional sense either. Crowley had it fitted with an Aire of Kaos that made it impossible to track him, by the irate denizens of Down-There-In-The-Pit and the righteous Up-There-With-His-Ego. Crowley frowned, irritated that the black leather was slightly dusty, a result of the clogged up arteries of the teleportation routes. He hated not looking his best. Especially in front of Aziraphale.  
  
But of course it was all in the name of Good and Evil and how the representatives presented themselves. Can't have the representative of Evil and Temptation looking worse than the do-gooders of Heaven, what?   
  
Yes Crowley dear, whatever you say. *History lesson #1: Denial isn't just a river in Egypt.*  
  
Especially when it's in the form of a slim figure with the most lovely features possible for a male (or male-shaped creature) to have, and huge blue eyes that were ancient and impossibly young at the same time. Currently balanced on tip-toes in a mockery of a dancer's arabesque attempting to insert another one of his huge books into the proper spot. Silly angel. Get a chair.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Angel, never thought to be seeing you attempting to recreate the ballet of the 1800s by yourself," a dark, mildly amused voice purred. Aziraphale turned, and three things happened in a brilliantly orchestrated sequence of events. Choreographed by the alliance of the Big Heads of Good and Evil for the purpose of watching their underlings suffer. Especially those who caused the Apocalypse to completely miss its mark and fall on its face somewhere in Nebraska. *insert evil and well-meaning (even scarier) chuckles*  
  
One, the angel turned, and tripped on a conveniently placed speck of dust that defied the rules of physics, being bigger and heavier than a cubic foot of lead. Which despite the angel's supposed grace and guaranteed still made him lose his balance completely. (The failure of preter-natural recovery skills is still being researched today by a slightly irate angel)   
  
Two, The demon saw the angel falling and decided to intervene. He could have regained the angel's balance. He didn't. He could have placed a pillow underneath him. He didn't do that either. Of course, it was no fault of his own. Volume CXIV, Page 7762, column 3, rule 493372-AABY stated that all demonic powers were not to be used for any good deeds. Which prompted Crowley to "save" Aziraphale in a heroic, but nevertheless human manner. Which leads us to   
  
Three, angel finds "himself" entangled with demon in demon's arms.   
  
Urk.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE  
  
One pair of soft blue eyes that usually reminded people of forget-me-nots and warm bunny slippers BLAZED sapphire. Another pair of agate yellow eyes gleamed malevolently. Growls emerged, (musical on the part of Aziraphale, courtesy of Rule #117 AS: Angels shall be musical in all situations).   
  
A small tropical island was overwhelmed by a wave of low frequency and sank to the bottom of the ocean.  
  
The Great Creator and His Great Adversary gulped.   
  
"I uhh, suppose that that's the end of our pool game."   
  
"Umm, yes. I'll just replace these planets and send the black holes off where they belong/cause the most problems to intergalactic travelers."   
  
"Really now, Lucifer. We made a pact that no excessive acts of good or evil will progress after our game day. I know that you're supposedly the "Prince of Lies" but honestly, this is too much."  
  
"No, I'm not. I have morals too, you know. Evil morals, but morals nevertheless. And you can stop rolling Your Divine Eyeballs. I just want to comment that when our reps from Earth come here, which they are bound to do soon, they will be VERY angry, inflamed, or to put it in an American way, severely pissed off."  
  
"Excellent point. Shall we retire to a relatively safe and undisturbed corner of the universe?"  
  
"Fine with me, O Great and Holy One. Just let me put a "Out to Lunch" sign up down at the office and bring a toothbrush."  
  
"Fine. Fine. Just hurry it up a wee bit."  
  
"I will, Great Foe and Do-Gooder. I don't relish the thought of being torn apart and interrogated. Especially not by your agent. He is really and truly, quoting that excellent witchhunter, "a southern pansy". If word got out that he almost destroyed me in a tongue-lashing, I'll be laughed out of home and Hell!"  
  
"It would serve you right."  
  
"Ancient friend, you are so cruel! Despite your shining image as the One Great Good, you tend to be so…so…"  
  
"Stop the theatrics if you can't find the proper words. Your excessive arm-waving is starting to aggravate me. And my heart bleeds for you on account of my callous and caustic comments."  
  
"Wrong side. It's on the left. And could you be any more sarcastic?"  
  
"No."  
  
*insert ominous music and a black cloud creeping over Lucifer and God. In the center, Aziraphale and Crowley are stalking VERY menacingly towards their hidey-hole. Aziraphale is holding a little white book. God searches with His All-Seeing-Sight.*  
  
"Uh-oh."  
  
"Somehow I DO NOT like the sound of that."  
  
"It looks like they have managed to overcome St. Peter, storm the Pearly Gates, beaten My Voice senseless, and stolen my appointment notebook."  
  
"I take it that it's the one that has 'SET UP REPRESENTATIVES ON EARTH BECAUSE OF INTENSE IRRITATION AND BECAUSE THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER' written in giant red letters, all in capitals?"  
  
"How did you guess?"  
  
"Well, the rather fatalistic and deadpan voice that you just adopted might be a clue."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Oh indeed. Maybe now is a good time to leave. Shall we."  
  
"Lovely manners, Lucifer. Do you think that maybe we should play pool down in your place next time?"  
  
"Can't. Crowley has a key to the Fiery Gates."   
  
"Oh."  
  
*spoken in rueful unison* "BUGGER IT ALL."  
  
  
  
  
*******************************  
*snickers* Brought down low by a pair of underlings, how shameful.   
*pokes out head and looks around* No whizzing rotten tomatos! Tell me what you think!  
  
. 


End file.
